


Smoke and Metal

by azurrys



Category: Original Work
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 08:43:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurrys/pseuds/azurrys
Summary: To Starling, smoke and metal smell like home.





	Smoke and Metal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Measured_Words](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/gifts).



> I had a lot of fun writing this fic! Thank you for your letter and prompts, and I hope you enjoy reading it <3

The forge roared as Starling stoked the fire, the smell of smoke and metal filling the air. By now, the scent was a familiar one to Starling; almost like home. The smithy was empty save for him and his customer, and the knight watching him in fascination reared back at the noise and heat as the forge started up.

Starling barely managed to hide his amused smile; a knight who startled at the forge had most definitely not been a knight for very long. “Is it always so loud?” the knight asked apprehensively.

“Just the fire. Nothing to be afraid of, sir.” Starling heaped more coals onto the flames, and the knight jumped as they leaped up, taking a step back.

“Goodness! It’s a wonder that you’re not afraid of that fire, the pretty little thing that you are.”

Starling bit back his snort, poking the fire again. The knight most certainly didn’t have tact going for him. Not that Starling would have used _pretty_ if he was describing himself—he might have once upon a time, when he’d lived a finer life, but _pretty_ was not the word for someone who had spent half a day working the forge. At least his hair was dark enough that the soot didn’t show, even if he couldn’t say the same for his skin.

“I have a lot of experience dealing with fire.” Deciding not to address the second half of the comment at all, Starling just turned to retrieve the knight’s sword from the counter. “Your first visit to the blacksmith, sir?” Starling inquired, placing the knight’s bent sword in the forge. The knight bobbed his head up and down, staring warily at the glow of the forge behind Starling. It was almost amusing, how the new ones always seemed to fear it as if it was some sort of beast.

“Indeed. My first battle was yesterday.” The knight seemed to regain a little confidence as he said that, puffing out his chest. “Bograts. I slayed two! I could have slayed more, if not for my blasted sword.”

Well, the knight certainly didn’t lack enthusiasm. Bograts were little more than garden pests, but everyone had to start somewhere. Though Starling wasn’t entirely sure how he had bent his sword so dramatically fighting bograts. “Thank you for helping to keep our village safe, sir,” he said. At that, the knight seemed to puff up a little further; Starling had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from laughing.

“I am only doing my duty! This is but the beginning. One day, when I am seasoned, I have sworn to defeat the dragon that terrorises these lands.”

Hand stilling for a second where he was reaching to retrieve the sword, Starling ducked his head to make sure that the knight couldn’t see his expression. Laying the sword on the anvil, Starling busied himself hammering out the blade for several moments before he replied. “Is that so?” he asked conversationally, when he was sure that his voice was neutral.

“Why, of course! The dragon pillages and plunders, stealing livestock and ruining crops… why, I even heard that it kidnapped an innocent young lady, and keeps her as a slave!”

At that, Starling almost dropped his hammer. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. “Pardon my impertinence, sir, but who did you hear this from?”

“A very friendly young man at the inn! Lars, I believe his name was?” The knight considered for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, Lars. He told me all about this poor young soul. Once, when he was at the foot of the mountain picking herbs, he saw the young woman by chance upon the cliff. He said none climb the mountain for fear of incurring the dragon’s wrath, yet there she was, looking over the village from its peak. She had beautiful golden hair that fell to her hips, and the dragon had dressed her in jewels and finery, but she had such a sad look about her… my heart aches at the very thought of her plight!”

Oh, spirits above. Biting the inside of his cheek in a desperate attempt not to laugh, Starling started hammering again, not trusting himself to look the knight in the eye. “I see,” he answered after a moment. “And you intend to… slay the dragon?”

“I shall most certainly rescue this fine lady from the clutches of that terrible beast,” the knight said firmly. “Imagine how terrified she must be, at the mercy of such a creature! As soon as I am ready, I shall challenge that horrible monster!”

Swallowing around the inappropriate laughter that threatened to rise up, Starling continued his work on the sword to calm himself somewhat. When he was certain he could keep his voice steady, he spoke again. “That’s certainly very impressive, good sir,” he started, making sure his tone was as sincere as possible, “but… I’m afraid I feel compelled to apologise on behalf of Lars.”

The knight blinked owlishly at him, and Starling offered him a rueful smile. “Lars is very kind, but he has a habit of… exaggerating, shall I say? I always enjoy my conversations with him, and his stories are excellent, but he has a habit of neglecting to mention that they are such on occasion.”

“…Oh.” The knight looked so disappointed that Starling almost felt sorry. Thank the spirits above that it had been Lars who told him so; Starling would have been equally apologetic about besmirching someone’s good name had it been anyone else. As it was, now he only had to feel sorry for dashing the poor knight’s hopes and dreams about saving a beautiful damsel. “So… there is no dragon?”

“Oh, there’s a dragon,” Starling said lightly. “But it never leaves the mountain, and it has never once attacked the village. Neither does it keep a young woman as a slave. Since it appears to be quite peaceful, we are quite content to leave it be; after all, as the proverb goes, let sleeping dragons lie. Is that not right?”

“I suppose so,” the knight agreed, though he still sounded disappointed. Sighing aloud, he asked, “But… are you truly sure that Lars was telling me a story, smith? His description of the young woman was so very heart-wrenching.”

Glancing around to make sure they were alone, Starling motioned the knight forward, lowering his voice. “I have to ask you to keep this to yourself, my good sir. Will you promise me?” He whispered the words, more for dramatic effect than any attempt to keep quiet. The smithy was empty, after all, and nobody else would be able to hear them outside—not over the sound of the forge.

The knight’s eyes widened almost comically, and he once again nodded so quickly Starling had to resist the urge to laugh. Thankfully, he managed to keep his expression serious as he started speaking. “The truth is… that young woman is actually my lover. She is a foreigner, not of this village, and rather shy—she prefers not to come down to the village at all, so we live near the mountain. On occasion, she likes to climb it, although the villagers caution against doing so. She does not fear the dragon, you see. It truly is a peaceful beast. Lars must have glimpsed her on the cliff, and jumped to… certain conclusions.”

“Oh, my,” the knight breathed. “Is that truly so?”

“Truly,” Starling answered. “She has never come to any harm on the mountain. But the villagers have their beliefs, and I’m afraid they would try to stop her if they ever came to know of her habit, so you must understand why I ask you to keep this conversation between us, good sir.”

“Why, of course I shall! I will never speak of this to anyone!” the knight declared loudly. Starling had never been more thankful for the noise of the forge. Still, he offered the knight a grateful smile before returning his attention to the sword.

For a long moment, silence reigned save for the steady rumble of the forge. The knight seemed pleased at the idea of knowing more than the rest of the villagers did—Starling was glad of that. Although the man was loud and enthusiastic, Starling felt that he could trust him not to tell the story to the whole village. “Will you be returning for your sword later, sir?” he asked. The knight blinked, caught off-guard by the change of topic.

“Is my sword not ready yet?”

“I’m afraid the process takes several hours, good sir.” Smiling brightly, Starling went on, “Perhaps you would like to return at the end of the day? I will have your sword ready for you by sundown.”

“Oh… I suppose I shall return then.” The knight nodded sagely as he added, “Thank you for your tale, smith. I wish you well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Starling answered, smiling at the knight’s grave face. It looked like his secret would be safe.

Watching as the man left the smithy, Starling waited until he had turned the street corner before he closed the door, flipping the sign. Then finally—finally, he let himself laugh and laugh and laugh to his heart’s content.

 

 

 

Night had fallen by the time Starling left the smithy. It was no obstacle to him, however; he was long used to navigating the forest by darkness, picking his way through unmarked paths until he emerged at the foot of the mountain. Rather than climbing it, however, he merely laid his hand along the rocky wall. “Ruka,” he called. “I’m home.”

Before he had even drawn another breath, Starling felt the solid rock rumble beneath his touch. On the surface, it still looked as if nothing had changed—but rather than impassable stone, his fingers slipped through the wall as if there was nothing there. Smiling, Starling stepped forward.

The inside of the entire mountain was a single vast, sprawling cavern, the ceiling so high up that it felt like the sky. If a treasure hunter ever managed to find a way to break in, they would probably pass out in joy from the masses of riches that filled the cavern—everything from gold and jewels to fine fabrics and silks, all in heaps so high that they were taller than Starling’s considerable height. The cavern was always bathed in the warm glow of firelight; the torches placed in the sconces lining the rocky walls never went out.

It was dragon fire, after all.

“Star!” Starling laughed at the blur of bright gold that pounced on him, stumbling as he was knocked to the ground. Ruka nuzzled up to him like an overlarge cat, pushing his snout into the crook of Starling’s neck. His smooth, gleaming gold scales reflected the firelight, making him look like a piece of treasure himself. “Missed you,” Ruka rumbled, claws curling into Starling’s shirt. Starling shoved half-heartedly at him before he could poke holes in the fabric, though he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his face.

“I missed you too, Ruru. Now change. You’re too heavy as a dragon.”

Snorting out a puff of smoke, Ruka nudged his chin before withdrawing, molten gold eyes flashing. Closing his eyes just in time, Starling registered light flashing behind his eyelids before weight settled on him again—though not so heavy this time that he was trapped beneath it.

“Missed you, Star,” Ruka whispered again, voice soft and light rather than the deep rumble of his dragon form. Opening his eyes, Starling smiled up at his dragon, reaching up to sink his hand into decadently soft locks. As a human, Ruka was still all warm, golden tones—from the shimmer to his skin to the long, wavy hair that fell down past his back and down to his hips, which was as far as his modesty went. Ruka never wore anything more than jewels that fell into place to match his body when he shifted. There were still faint draconic touches to him in the pointed ears and lines of golden scales that spiralled down his limbs and across his chest, but that was how Starling had always liked it. Ruka was skilled enough at illusions that he could easily make himself appear fully human if he wanted, but Starling preferred seeing him as he was. “I don’t see why you have to _work_. There’s enough treasure here for both of us.”

Laughing at the sulky tone, Starling stroked his hand through Ruka’s hair. As always, his dragon all but purred in reaction, nuzzling into the touch. “I do it because I like it, Ruru, you know that. If I ever tire of it, then I’ll stop, but I can’t give up the forge just yet.” Nudging Ruka to stand, Starling guided them towards the pile of silks. Tugging him down, Starling sighed in contentment as he sank down into soft comfort. In the beginning, he’d been uncertain how to feel about how extravagant everything was—he’d both loved and hated everything that reminded him of the life he’d left behind. Ruka’s treasure hoard made everything pale in comparison, but the opulence still reminded him of the court he’d once called home.

But by now, he didn’t mind, because there was nothing Ruka loved more than beautiful things, and there was nothing Starling loved more than indulging his beautiful dragon.

“While we’re still talking about my work, though… I met an interesting customer today, Ruru.” Starling paused, reconsidering. “Wait, perhaps I should rephrase that. He wasn’t a very interesting customer, but he did tell me quite an interesting story.”

“Mm-hm?” Ruka reached down, absently starting to undo the laces of Starling’s shirt. Leaving him to the task, Starling went on stroking his hair, pressing absent kisses to the top of his head now and then.

“Apparently, one of the villagers told him a tall tale about the dragon terrorising these lands, and how it had captured a beautiful young woman as a slave.”

Ruka giggled at that, fingers sneaking downwards. “Well, I have captured a very beautiful treasure… though I wouldn’t _quite_ call him a woman.”

“Quiet,” Starling muttered in reply, feeling a flush rising to his cheeks. Despite being unaffected by the knight’s casual comment calling him pretty—which was far from the first he’d fielded either—Ruka saying just the same would never stop flustering him just a little. “He was _not_ referring to me. He described a beautiful young woman with long golden hair that fell to her hips, draped in jewels and finery…”

“ _Oh_.” Ruka preened a little at that, which made Starling roll his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “Well, it’s fine if they think I’m a woman as long as they still think I’m beautiful. Right, Star?”

“You’re always beautiful, you silly dragon. Now stop fishing for compliments.” Ruka still perked up at that, happily nuzzling into Starling’s neck with a low purr. “As fun as it is to hear that the villagers agree with me, you should really know better than to be caught.” He drew Ruka a little closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “That knight blustered all about how he was going to slay the terrible dragon and save the damsel. I set him straight, but you have to be careful, Ruru. I don’t like the idea of anyone chasing after you—whether for your treasure, or…”

“Oh, Star.” Ruka leaned up to drop a soft kiss on Starling’s lips, hair falling forward. “You never have to worry about that. No human can pierce these illusions. Not even humans with fae tricks.” He kissed Starling’s nose when he said that, winking. “Even if an army were to storm the mountain, they would never find us. I’d just hide for a little bit and it would blow over.”

Ruka pressed his forehead to Starling’s, reaching down to tangle their fingers together. “And,” he went on, voice low and gentle, “even if— _if_ —anyone ever found this place… it’s alright. There’s no way my illusions won’t be able to hold them off for long enough to get us both away, and we can make a new home somewhere else. Gather some new treasures together. It’ll always be alright, as long as I still have you, and this.”

Lifting their joined hands to his lips, Ruka pressed a soft kiss to the plain steel band on his ring finger. Starling couldn’t help the warmth that spread through his chest at the warm sincerity in Ruka’s voice. Here they were, surrounded by treasures beyond anyone’s imagination—and the only one that Ruka wanted to keep was the simplest, plainest forge Starling had ever made. Even when he’d become a better blacksmith and wanted to replace it with something prettier, Ruka had never let him.

“Thank you, Ruka.” Starling tugged him down for another kiss, this one long and sweet. Ruka tasted like smoke and metal—flavours that Starling had once hated for separating him from his old home, flavours that he’d grown to love more than anything else.

 _Changeling_. The whispers had followed him everywhere in the courts, after they’d found him out. The fae prince who had touched iron and hadn’t come away burnt; the fae prince who was actually human, a spiteful prank played on the king and queen he had called his parents. The king and queen who had turned around and refused to call him a son after that.

Starling had hated everything that metal stood for—had wanted to reject it completely from his life, as if by doing so, he could still pretend he was the fae he wasn’t. It was only later, after meeting a golden dragon, that he was glad he was human.

If he wasn’t, he would never have met Ruka.

Gently pulling back just far enough to speak, Starling murmured against Ruka’s lips, “You should just use an illusion to make that ring prettier.” Ruka gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look, which Starling ignored as always. “Or if you don’t want that, you should let me replace—”

“ _No_!” Ruka sounded so horrified that Starling couldn’t help but laugh. “You can’t make me, Star. It’s pretty, like everything you make for me. And it’s the colour of your eyes. It’s already perfect.” Ruka pouted up at him. “And no fae tricks. I’ll know if you use any. I’m _much_ better at illusions than you.”

“Yes, yes, Ruru.” Starling patted his head lightly. “And here the villagers call fae the tricksters. Only because they’ve never met you, hm?”

“Their idea of dragons is all wrong,” Ruka said loftily. “But I’ll them go on thinking that. Much easier to stay hidden when they think I’m nothing but a big, hulking lizard whose only power is breathing fire. And looking pretty.”

“Yes, especially when they catch you looking sadly over the village from the cliffs…”

“Quiet! It’s your fault! If you came home earlier, that wouldn’t happen.” Ruka wrinkled his nose. “You’re a very bad treasure, I’ll have you know. Always misbehaving. Never doing what I ask. Wanting to _work_.”

“You don’t complain about that when I forge you pretty things, do you?” Kissing Ruka’s nose, Starling combed his hand through Ruka’s hair, mindful not to catch his fingers on the jewels woven through it. “My beautiful dragon.”

As always, Ruka melted a little at that. It was funny—Ruka was always calling Starling his treasure, but he liked it when Starling used possessive little terms. Starling could never figure out if his pretty dragon wanted to own a treasure or be a treasure, but he was happy to be both owner and owned if it made Ruka happy. “Hmph. Fine. I’m only forgiving you because you’re my prettiest treasure, and you’re always giving me more treasures for my collection.” Despite his words, Ruka still wound himself around Starling, so that Starling couldn’t extract himself even if he’d wanted to.

Smiling, Starling pressed another kiss to the top of Ruka’s head, wrapping his arms around him. Surrounded by decadently soft fabric and smooth skin and scales, the exertion of a day working the forge was finally sinking in. Between the knight’s order and catching up on his pending requests, he hadn’t had much of an opportunity to work on his latest creation for Ruka, but that was alright. Tomorrow was another day, and the forge would wait for him.

Closing his eyes, Starling drew in a deep, contented breath, inhaling the comforting scent of smoke and metal.

 


End file.
